


We're Aiming For the Top

by rinsinual



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slash, Suits, emotionally stunted lawyers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:32:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsinual/pseuds/rinsinual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mike graduated Columbia Law, he received eighteen job offers, no questions asked.<br/>Successful!Mike AU<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They All Start Somewhere

Whenever Mike Ross looks back, when he finds a moment in between cases or a second to stare off the balcony of his condo, or in the time between consciousness and sleep, Mike tries to imagine when he stepped on this path. He asks himself what was the moment when he turned from Mike Ross, troubled loser, to Mike Ross, soon to be best lawyer in the city. And he’ll always settle on the image of Trevor, grinning, a copy of the Calculus II midterm in his hand. And he remembers taking that test, ripping it to pieces, and throwing it in the trash.

When Mike graduated Columbia Law, he received eighteen job offers, no questions asked. None of which were from Pearson-Hardman, the best law firm in the city. A quick call to the managing partner, Jessica Pearson, informed Mike that they only hired from Harvard, and Mike, in one of his rare fits of temper, told Jessica she was making one of the biggest mistakes of her career. She chuckled lightly and hung up, and Mike proceeded to call Wakefield-Cady, then the fifth best law firm in the city.

Mike chose Wakefield-Cady because they practically begged: offering him a higher starting salary than anyone else, and a practically guaranteed partnership in three years. He also knew that it would look even better when he eventually lead the law firm to the top. Yeah, Mike Ross was pretty cocky, but he knew he was good. And if he wasn’t the best lawyer in New York yet, he knew he would be, just given a little time.  
His first case was a pro-bono. He listened with sympathy as young woman named Jenny Griffith told about her mother’s messed up leg, how she might never be able to walk again, and how her health insurance company refused to pay for the surgery. Mike put his all into her case, determined to win for her, and for her mother.

He lost his first case to a Mr. Harvey Specter, Junior Partner of Pearson Hardman. Mike barely remembers the trial today, but he remembers the devastated look on Jenny’s face before it disappeared behind a flat, broken smile. Afterwards he just sat there sat on a bench outside the courtroom, and stared at his hand. The hand that Jenny had shaken gently before leaving, her brow furrowed slightly and her mouth turned down at the edges. 

  


Harvey Specter walked out of that courthouse with a smile on his face. He glanced to the side and saw the opposing lawyer sitting on the bench. He was slumped down like a kicked puppy, his eyes liquid in the dim light. Harvey imagined he felt something, a faint pressure in his chest. Someone else might have called it sympathy, but Harvey knew he’d let go of those feelings long ago, and whatever this was now was just the ghost of something remembered. He turned away quickly. That night her picked up a car from the car club, a new yellow Lamborghini, and drove until the strange feeling disappeared.

  


Mike had a twenty-five thousand dollar signing bonus in his account, and every cent went to Jenny’s mother’s surgery. Jenny swore up and down she would return the favor, and her chance came three years later on a cold night in September. Mike’s grandmother died in her sleep, alone. Mike was notified at 9:20 that night, and at 9:52 Jenny was holding him on the hardwood floors of his new apartment, his present to himself for making Partner. She held him the entire night and arranged her funeral, a quiet affair attended by Mike, Jenny, and a few members of his Gram’s card club. Mike stood through the funeral and the reception, the condolences. He listened to his Gram’s old friends: the mutters of “She was damn good a spades, I’ll tell you that” and “She knew how to be happy, you know? Just a tall glass of wine and an afternoon game of poker.” He said his eulogy, held back his tears, and said a final goodbye to his grandmother.  


That night Mike lay in his bed and tried to count the people in his life. There was Jenny, and maybe some of the guys from work…but he didn’t really talk to them, besides the occasional drink. So there was Jenny.

His thoughts wandered to Trevor, and he considered calling him. Mike hadn’t seen Trevor since he started law school, and they hadn’t been real friends since before that. After the incident with test, Mike gave up pot. He started taking more classes, planning to graduate early, and started a part time job as a waiter. The schedule between dedicated student and aspiring drug trafficker had few overlaps, and Mike and found himself drifting further and further away from Trevor, and their life-long friendship. Mike shifted in his bed to stare out the left side of his bedroom, the wall made of clean clear glass. He looked at the people shifting below him, and blinked at the city lights, trying to categorize his sudden loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! But I prompted this on the kinkmeme, but nobody answered, and I needed this so badly! So I'm writing it myself. I haven't written fic since ninth grade (I'm sure if you look hard, you'll find something on fanfiction.net about Harry Potter and the amazing muggle girl he befriends and falls in love with), but like I said, I needed this.
> 
> That being said. Criticism appreciated. I mean seriously. Rip me a new one. I want you to be as harsh and honest as possible. I have a vague idea where I'm going with this, but suggestions are also appreciated. 
> 
> What is this beta and how does it work? Anyway I want one so yeah volunteers?
> 
> Also. Title? I'm not really feeling it. So expect it to change.
> 
> Again, sorry for the probable awfulness.


	2. Offer You a Ride?

“Are you even listening to me?” Mike looked up from his game of solitaire. Ryan Winstrum, Vice President of Winstrum security, and son of Dustin Winstrum himself, was glaring at him. His face was a lovely shade of pink, discernable even in the dim candlelight of the restaurant. It looked like the color pony a six year old would ask for as a birthday present. Mike chuckled, and the pink became a shade darker. “You aren’t!”

Mike sighed. “Everything of any modicum of importance— possible witnesses, possible weaknesses, and most importantly how exactly I will win this case—was explained by me within the first ten minutes of this meeting. Everything else has been you asking irrelevant questions and complaining about factors outside of my control, generally with no breath in between. I haven’t stopped you for two reasons. One, you looked like you need to unwind; if yelling at hapless lawyers is how you do it, than who am I to judge? And two, this meeting is billable, and I’m trying to save up for a new apartment. I think I’m ready for a penthouse.”

The color now might be considered more purplely, maybe a nice magenta. Winstrum’s mouth worked for a few seconds. Mike watched with great interest as the words finally came out. “You—I could--fired!”

Mike twisted his mouth sympathetically. He could manage speech, but obviously complete sentences was too much to ask. “No, no it’s okay. Shh…calm down, and please don’t made threats you can’t enforce. I’m hired by the company, only the CEO can fire me, and your daddy isn’t that stupid. You _know_ that”, he finished chidingly. “And there you go working you mouth again. It’s fine; it’s getting late, I have to go anyway. I suggest you sit down with some comfort food—I personally prefer a nice big cheeseburger—and take a nice relaxing evening. We have court in the morning, okay?”

Mike rose from their table frowning at his untouched plate of…something fancy. Ryan had insisted on meeting at this French place, apparently the best in the country. Mike had proceeded to order the most expensive thing on the menu, hoping for some sort of steak. Unfortunately the waiter had presented him with a small bowl of black mush, various plants mixed in, saying with a flourish _lesouefsdelapoissonnoir_ , or something similar. Mike had no idea what this meant; though he couldn’t shake the certainty he’d heard poison in there somewhere. He gave it another long look and walked quickly out of the restaurant.

Mike sent a text to his driver, Alma. He stood on the curb, trying to get a hold of Jenny. His old assistant had quit, and he wanted Jenny to step into the position. She’d was reluctant--something about avoiding his charity--but Mike needed her. He was trying to convey the correct balance of pleading and hurt in one text when he heard a voice behind him, “You waiting for a cab?”

Mike turned to see a man walk up in a dark tailored suit. He was about Mike’s height but wider, and his teeth glimmered in a charming smile. Mike tilted his head and the man held out his hand. Mike watched muscles move under his suit. “Harvey Specter.”

 He looked at the hand for a minute, then took it. “Mike,” he said warily.

“Well Mike, my car will be here in a few minutes. I don’t do this often…but I’d love to offer a ride.” Harvey’s smile was just little too knowing and self satisfied. His eyes twinkled seductively, but under that Mike could see a familiar calculation. Mike realized why he felt so uneasy.

“ You’re a lawyer.”  It wasn’t a question. Mike could see it in his face. Which meant that he was being treated to the well rehearsed seduction techniques of a lawyer. He looked down at himself, wondering why Harvey had decided he was someone this routine would work on. He made a mental note to throw away all the suits from his associate days.

If possible Harvey’s smirk grew wider—it was smirk Mike realized, not a smile.  “How clever.” Mike made a chocking sound. For the first time Harvey faltered, brow wrinkling slightly, and Mike drew some strength from that. He put his own smirk firmly in place. Harvey eyebrows rose, and Mike flinched.  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. That’s my role.” Harvey frowned, opening his mouth to speak and Mike rushed on. “What I mean is I am not the one who gets offered rides by handsome, toppy lawyers in their shiny limos and then willingly follows them to their condos. I offer rides in _my_ lovely town car and take guys to _my_ highrise, where I top or bottom depending on my mood. And tonight I’m feeling toppy so unless you’re feeling adventurous,” Mike tilted his head, “which you decidedly are not. I hope the rest of your evening is pleasant.”

The other man was silent and Mike grinned, thinking he’d recovered the upper hand. He stepped closer and Harvey widened his eyes slightly. “Don’t be sad, you’re quite good-looking… “ He paused, and then said, voice lowered, “I’m sure you’ll find someone willing. In fact I’d offer _you_ a ride, but I have court in the morning. Too bad, huh?” Mike had continued leaning in as he spoke and found himself staring into the other man’s eyes. They were a deep brown, just this side of black, and slightly crinkled at the edges. He let himself examine the face more carefully and realized that Harvey _was_ extremely attractive. He looked him up and down, taking note of his broad shoulders, before looking back up in time to watch those eyes blink. Harvey was the same height as him, and Mike considered a kiss. It would require no effort; just a simple push forward… maybe just a small kiss, a press of parted lips. He could smell something on Harvey’s breath—something fruity.  Before he could decide, they were both bathed in light. Alma had arrived. “Nice meeting you,” Mike breathed before straightening and walking towards the car, getting in without looking back.

 

“Mike!” Alma said. Alma’s driving services had been a gift from Marvin Wakefield when he realized that Mike still rode the subway to work. She had light brown skin with curly black hair, and when had Mike asked she’d told him that both her parents were Somali, but that New York was the only place she had ever called home.  She shouted practically every word that came out of her mouth, but she also had impeccable hearing, more than once responding to words Mike had muttered under his breath. She also found an unfortunate amusement in the every aspect of his sex life. “You not gonna take that one home?  He’s not your usual style, but still! How can that not be your type! Was he straight? But noo, I forgot, people don’t stay straight for you do they? Fall for your rich, arrogant lawyer thing in seconds, don’t they? Plus you’re so pretty, I’m sure they can’t wait to see if you’ll take them u—”.

Mike let her go on for a minute, before interrupting, “That happened once, and he was not straight; just because they say they’re straight, does not mean they’re straight. And no, _he_ wanted to take _me_ home.”

“So it was a competition to see who would get to show off their amazing chauffeurs and fancy apartments?” And you guys, you badasses, decided to settle it with a staring contest! Were you winning at least?”

There were times when Mike regretted the day he let his mask slip in front of Alma, prompting her to in turn do away from her cool act of civility. Allowing them to become friends, or at least this version of friendship—restrained to conversations in the expensive car.  But those moments were rare, and more often than not, he thanked that sudden instinct, that voice that had told him that Alma was good people. That he should ask her for her opinion on his gift for Jenny’s birthday, share music preferences, and laugh at her confessed love for Jon Stewart. Now Alma laughed loudly, and Mike smiled, thanking that instinct again. “You’re hilarious. Drop me off at Mario’s?”

“Of course, Your Highness."

 

Mike will admit that he spent a lot of time in fancy bars, drinking overpriced cocktails and admiring women in thousand dollar dresses, men with expensive watches. But occasionally, when he had become sick of the false flattery and the familiar practices of the wealthy, he frequented various other places. Normal places. Nowhere dodgy—no he kept far away from the bad sides of town, the places where you were as likely to find drugs as alcohol—but somewhere where the average five-to-niner would sit down with a beer and a joke.

Mario’s was one of those places, besides bragging a curious reputation. It wasn’t a gay bar, but for some reason it had become the place to come if you wanted a guy to warm your bed at night.

That’s what Mike was in the mood for: someone simple and uncomplicated, a break from the careful manipulations that infused most of his interactions. And that’s what he found. A Hispanic guy in regular jeans and a plaid button down, who allowed Mike to kiss him softly on the cab ride home. A man who let himself be pushed onto the bed and straddled, and moaned softly while Mike prepared him. He came before Mike, with a soft grunt, and was gone the next morning, leaving a red business card on Mike’s living room table. Mike glanced at it-- _Ernesto Salome, property manager—_ before throwing it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter will be more Harvey, and hopefully betaed so look forward to that. I kind of turned away from that nostalgic flowy thing I had going in the last chapter, because it makes it hard to do real dialog. I'm not sure which one I like better...I might just change back and forth. Thoughts?  
> Also: Do you guys want Trevor to come back? Let me know but be warned, if he does come it'll be to make life difficult.  
> And: I don't usually write romance (or at least nothing that goes well--I've had a weird preference to tragedy lately), but be patient with me. I'll figure it out.  
> ...god I talk a lot


	3. Don't Mess Up

That first time Harvey noticed Mike, became just another hidden memory. Buried under the thrill of victory and the pride of his new position as a Junior Partner, Harvey did not retain the image of the lawyer whose sad eyes made his chest ache. That first sighting became lost, so that when Harvey saw Mike again, he did not make the connection. He did not remember, and he never would—the image lost forever.

But even if the mind does not actively remember, it knows—somehow, on a deep level—and learns from the past. The second time Harvey met Mike, he did not make the same mistake.

Harvey had been rejected exactly six times in his adult life. Three had been cases of mistaken sexuality; the others had, reluctance evident, informed him they were married. But that was it. Six people with perfectly good excuses. Needless to say, Harvey Specter was _not_ used to rejection.

Which explained how his thoughts had been overtaken with images of Mike leaning forwards, his lips pressed into a smirk, his mouth moving softly, and his eyes fixed to Harvey’s. And sometimes that image would shift: Mike leaning further still, open mouth meeting Harvey’s lips. Harvey’s hand roaming over his back and ass to eventually feel a hardness in Mike’s pants. Still, the fixation puzzled Harvey. There was nothing special about this Mike. His eyes were pretty, and there was something about the set of his lips that made Harvey want to bite them. But he was just your average pretty boy with an inflated ego, most likely feeling overly proud as a manager at his daddy’s second tier company. And if Harvey ignored the sharp intelligence in his eyes, the confidence in his voice, that was all there was to him. Harvey came to this conclusion the day after their second meeting, just in time for Jessica to poke her head in and call him to her office.

 

Jessica never was one for theatrics. She changed Harvey’s life one day over coffee and a cream cheese danish. He still remembers how calm she looked as she pulled out a Harvard application, her own personal letter of recommendation, and a LSAT test book. She’d narrowed her eyes slightly and informed him that he would no longer be working in the mailroom, and then, ignoring his gasp of surprise, signaled a passing waiter for a refill.

When Harvey walked into her office, Jessica sighed and told him to sit down. She stared at him for a full moment before saying two things in quick succession, “Harvey, as we speak, maintenance is adding the words “Senior Partner” to your office door.” And then, while he’s still reeling, “And right now I’m going to give you the most important case this firm has ever seen.” “You are going to facilitate the merger between the Gold Cooperation and Goto Industries.” She looked up at that, making sure she had his attention. Harvey met her eyes steadily, if a little dazedly and she nodded, as if confirming something she already knew. “Listen up Harvey, it’s lecture time:

“Goto Industries is currently the second largest company in Japan and fifteenth largest in the world. Started in 1921 as a car company by Isao Goto, it soon prospered and branched off to become a decent presence in the manufacturing of everything from clothing to, later, airplanes. When Isao died he passed it to his son, Kei. Kei started one of the first environmental projects on a company of its size. He died near the end of WWII, and in his will, he tried to pass the company to his nephew Katsu, skipping over his own daughter, Akio.

Akio fought the will, splitting up the company. She took all environmental research, clothing, and any engineering facilities with her. In 1948, she met an American soldier named George Gold, and in 1952 she married him and moved the company to America, making her part of the company into the Gold Corporation.” Here Jessica paused, “You might recognize the name. It was passed down in her family, and is currently in the possession of her granddaughter Adria Gold. She recently made contact with her relation Shin Goto, the current head of Goto industries.” Jessica looked up expectantly.

“Actually,” said Harvey, “I remember the names being batted around. Wasn’t there already talk of a merger?”

“There was. But the only driving force was family solidarity. There was no predicted benefit of a merger, and eventually the move was aborted.”

“Something changed?”

“Yes. Something changed significantly. This information does not leave this office, Harvey. The Gold Corporation has developed a prototype for an entirely plant based none-polluting energy source. Instead of releasing it to the market, Gold wants to use Goto’s car factories to customize it around his cars.”

“It would completely take over the market.” Harvey could imagine. Billions and billions of dollars, all in the hands of one company newly formed.

“Exactly. Gold wants this done right, so she’s hired two law firms-- Wakefield-Cady and Pearson-Hardman. I’m giving you full reign on this one, Harvey. I want this to go perfectly; do not mess up.”

It’s a merger. A merger—which Harvey has done so many times—but still probably the most involved case he’s even taken. It was going to be difficult, a challenge that Harvey knew he was ready to take. It was perfect really. Except… “Wakefield-Cady?”

Jessica sighed. “Can’t get around it; we’ll have to make do. I expect you to make sure they don’t mess this up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I sat down to write this last week and I realized there actually has to be legal stuff in there somewhere...Therefore it is a week late. I apologize. Plus beta was a no-show. So if you are tempted to ask a question like, 'Does that comma really make sense there?'
> 
> I DON'T KNOW. YOU TELL ME.


	4. Gold Women

There’s a formula for greatness: a recipe, if you will. It’s a mixture of research and talent and strength and hard work and confidence and luck. It’s not a precise recipe, and various people have tweaked it around their professions, their goals, even their individual personalities. Two lawyers in the same profession, working on the same case, do not approach in the same way.

 

Harvey prepared by researching the Goto and Gold families. He found their weaknesses and strengths. He looked at past news reports and discovered every failed venture in the past ten years for either company; he learned their successes. He discovered exactly what Gold Corporation can afford to lose in this merger --any financial loss would be far exceeded by gain— he made a pretty accurate guess on what she wants to lose on this merger --very, very little— and he concluded what, with his counsel, they need to lose—nothing, nothing at all.

 

In a move similar to Jessica’s, Marvin Wakefield took Mike into his office. Fixing him with a stern stare, he said, “Mike. You’re about to make this firm. To successfully complete this merger will make you .” Nodding Mike walked out of the office and spent the day brushing up on his Japanese. He called a friend of a friend who knows Adria Gold; he asked how she takes her coffee, her favorite pastry. He memorized both companies’ financials: all 2000 pages.

He googled Harvey Specter. He remembered who he is and mentally relived his first failure; he remembered the way Harvey had filled up the court room. The way he’d used Jenny’s love for her mother against her, smooth voice seducing the jury, leaving Mike with the uncomfortable knowledge that—being in the same position— he would have listened to that voice too. He remembered why he’d blocked out the memory in the first place.

(He spends a minute, just one, imagining that voice under him, begging for something: to be fucked, possibly, or to fuck. Mike’s not picky.)

They have a nine-o-clock meeting at the Clearwater Hotel to discuss a planning. Unfortunately, the actual negotiations would have to take place in Japan. Harvey saw no advantage in leaving their home turf, but Gato had insisted, and Gold hadn’t argued. Wakefield-Cady had remained silent. In fact, Harvey had received no communication with them at all. Not that he needed or wanted to discuss anything with the other lawyer—who was bound to be nothing but hindrance—but Harvey was surprised there had been no attempt to contact him. _He_ definitely wasn’t going to call them, so he gave the issue no more thought.

 

The Gold Corporation owned just one hotel. It had been bought by Adria Gold’s mother, Hasa Gold. At the time of purchase was an old hotel, but not historic or grand by any means, and it’s lack of monetary value had been the cause of gossip and scandal. There had been stories about blackmail and affairs; one imaginative reporter had published an article about hidden silver and buried diamonds.

Adria had been a teenager when her mother purchased the Clearwater, but she remembered. She remembered trips to the hotel, while her mother outlined plans for its remodeling, her voice loud and excited, her words tripping over themselves as ideas poured out; she remembered how her mother sometimes sang while she worked, and how sometimes the two of them would spend a week at the hotel for no reason except that they wanted to. They would share a single room with two beds and Adria remembered listening to her mother's breathing in the middle of the night and thinking that she’d never heard anything so peaceful. She knew that Hasa bought the hotel because she loved it, not through association with a memory or some torrid love affair, but by its own merits. She’d loved that hotel with a fierceness that seemed inscripted into the Gold womens’ DNA, in the same way that _her_ mother had loved the company itself.

 

When Adria found herself telling this story to the skinny lawyer-boy from Wakefield-Cady, she didn’t quite know why. She had arrived early to set up their conference room, and walked in to find a blond haired young man lounging in a chair, his feet up on the table. The man shook her hand immediately saying, “Ms. Gold. It’s a pleasure. Really; My name is Michael Ross, and I will be your representative from Wakefield-Cady. I’m a little early, but I just had breakfast at The Clearwater’s restaurant. I ate a lot quicker than I expected; the food’s just incredible. I do love your hotel; it’s just…beautiful.”

Adria was taken aback by the pure honesty in his words and the simplicity of his statement. Maybe that’s the reason she found herself telling Ross that, yes, this place is special, and informing him exactly why. She told him, and instead of nodding politely or dismissively, Ross' eyes twinkled and he asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“It’s in your DNA, right? What do you love? What makes you feel the same way your mother felt about this hotel, and your grandmother felt about the company before her?”

Adria fixed him with a hard stare before answering.“You know, I created Gras— our new automobile targeted energy product. It’s my idea, my personal funding, my material, my time, my effort: my creation entirely. I would’ve created the car company myself actually, to host the product to my specifications; in fact I planned to. But Shin offered, and he’s sort of family, though we aren't related by blood. I've decided to trust him, but that doesn't change the fact that this is mine, and it needs to be handled my way, under my control. Making sure that happens…that’s your job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can hate me. I'd hate me.  
> Why are there so many OCs? I don't know. And this is after I already edited one out. Which made it shorter than it was supposed to be...  
> I was kinda hoping this would show Mike's character, maybe? 
> 
> And now I'm trying to decide what exactly defines incest. Which I am not a fan of, but I have such a great character in mind for Goto... 
> 
> I literally spent an hour trying to decide if I should go ahead and switch everything to present tense.
> 
> You guys should probably stop reading the notes. I cannot promise to stop writing them, but feel free to ignore them. As always criticism welcome
> 
> Next chapter: sexytimes. I promise.


	5. Egos with the Skill to Match

When Harvey walked into the conference room –-at exactly nine—, he was met with the sight of the pretty boy from the other day and Adria Gold…giggling. Adria Gold was easily one of the most powerful women in business, and she was giggling like a sixteen-year-old girl. She was blushing too. Before Harvey could wrap his mind around exactly what he was seeing, Pretty Boy looked up.

He was smiling, his lips turned up, his eyes crinkled. Blue eyes, intelligent and clever—you could tell, but now they were smiling. And Harvey couldn’t think of anything but kissing that smile off his lips, biting the corner of his mouth and licking inside to taste him. Staring into those eyes for an hour, a day, a year. Harvey wasn’t prone to hyperbole, but for moment, as he looked at the man under the hotel’s bright lights, his thoughts seemed barely an exaggeration.

Those lips opened to form words, “Michael Ross,” they said, “And I assume you’re the great Harvey Specter?”

The slight mockery in his tone snapped Harvey out of his daze, “You assume correctly.”

“I’ve heard so much.” His tone had sharpened somewhat, but the mockery was still there, weaved through with a challenge.

Harvey looked up at that, “And what have you heard?” 

“Oh, nothing worth discussing. Your escapades must make awfully boring conversation. Instead, may I introduce the very lovely Adria Gold.” Ross then proceeded to help Gold up from her seat, holding her hand delicately. “Give us a bow.” Adria’s face remained a steady dark pink, and she curtsied slightly.” Ross wolf whistled and clapped loudly.

It was over the top and slightly unprofessional, ridiculous, but incredibly charming. Surely calculated to land exactly in Gold’s good graces. It was a bold move—many clients disapproved of anything but the driest of professionalism— but if Adria Gold’s beaming smile was anything to go by, it was the right one. Harvey wondered how long Ross had worked to put that smile on her face.

“Stop it, stop it,” Adria said with a smile. “Can you believe it Mr. Specter; I’ve had to deal with this silliness for almost an hour. Now that you’re here, we can do some actual work.” She swatted at Ross’ shoulder and Harvey raised his eyebrows, impressed. It took skill to get the client that comfortable with you in such a short time.

“Now, I’ve already told Mike this, but I’ll tell you too: I want nothing less than full control—of everything, mind you, the entire process. I will not have Goto or anyone else telling me how to distribute my invention, or the best way to manufacture my product. Obviously money is important—I will not be robbed when my company is obviously bringing the more valuable item to the table, but that is not going to be the focus. Our focus is going to be to insure my continued management of Gras and any related projects. If you cannot get me this, Mr. Specter, you might as well find another career. I will destroy you. You too, Mike—charming as you are— if you don’t think you can handle this, you need to tell me now.”

Harvey was the first to speak, “Of course. Actually I’ve already have a plan,” digging through his briefcase he pulled out a packet of paper, “that can be worked within you goals fairly—”

 Mike interrupted smoothly. ““Great idea, Specter. Let’s talk strategy. I was thinking we could go in with a brief outline on paper, but a more extensive preparation on hold, which I’ve had my assistant type up here. If we’re smart about this we can—“

Adria laughed loudly. “Not so fast my dears. I hired two lawyers to work through this case. I do not intend to sit here and watch you compete over your separate ideas. I was assured I’d be getting the best, and I’m sure you both have the egos to match you skill, but why don’t you try putting that aside and working together?”

“Of course, Ms. Gold,” Harvey said. “I’d be happy to work with Ross here. Let me explain the plan to you and we’ll see how Ross can be incorporated.”

Mike opened his mouth to protest, but Adria beat him to it, “Hand me that; Mike, give me yours too.” Both lawyers handed her their papers. “Firstly, call me Adria, and I’ll call you Harvey. Secondly: do not condescend me. You two will be working together. That is an order. We’re going to have another meeting next week. Same time, same place, and at that time I expect the two of you to present me with a new strategy that you’ve come up with together. I will be keeping these,” she held up the papers she had just been handed. “and I will read them to make sure the new strategy doesn’t resemble either one of these. So don’t try to bully the other into just using your plan. Not that it would work anyway, but I’m trying to keep you from wasting your time.”

She looked up and noted the sulky look on both men’s faces. “Cheer up, darlings, it won’t be that bad. I’ll leave first. You two should schedule a planning session before our next meeting.” She patted Mike on the shoulder and left with a flourish. Mike and Harvey regarded each other for a moment, warily.

“Tuesday?” Harvey suggested. Mike’s eyes narrowed. _He’s not that attractive_ , Harvey thought, _Too skinny, and much too immature for my tastes. Look at his expression; no, he’s not attractive at all._ “Thursday?”

Mike considered and then said, “I’ll have my assistant call you. Until then, Mr. Specter.”

With raised eyebrows and a tilt of his head, he smiled and left the room.

_Not attractive at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a lying liar who lies. Forgive me, but it might be a little slower going than I expected. No sexytimes this chapter. Sorry, and I'll avoid promises in the future.
> 
> Ok. You guys, I know what's going to happen. I've got most of the story outlined in my head. It's going somewhere, trust me. 
> 
> Thank you for you're comments and kudos. You make me feel special :)


	6. PAs and Real People

After much pleading and begging on Mike’s part, Jenny had reluctantly agreed to be Mike’s secretary. She’d thought that seeing Mike at work would change her perception. That a new version of Work-Mike, with hard lines and too-sharp words would override the real Mike: the one whose snark and sarcasm was always underlined with a current of deep affection. She wanted the job, needed it even—her current one hadn’t exactly been ideal— but she didn’t have many friends, not true ones, and Mike had even less; she wasn’t sure is was worth the risk. But Mike had asked, and said he needed her, and offered her his lifelong devotion and benefits that were better than she could hope for anywhere else. She’d told him that he’d had her devotion since they’d first met; giving up his was only fair. Needless to say, she’d taken the job, because she never really learned to say no to him.

She needn’t have worried; Work-Mike was as different as she’d imagined—hard and sharp and cold in a way that others in this legal jungle had come to expect. But it was only the real Mike that ever spoke to her, his voice warm and kind, or tired and grateful, his words only ever lightly teasing.

Or fiercely protective, as she witnessed, when the first man to eye her the wrong way found his career abruptly ended. He’d made a speech then, short and to the point. Standing casually as he’d fixed his coffee from the break room, in full view of every associate at the firm and quite a few of the partners, he said he’d fire anyone and everyone who dared to make Jenny the least bit uncomfortable. And he would too, Jenny thought—he certainly _could_. It had been perfectly clear that though Mike was still a Junior Partner—in name only, his salary being higher than everyone of the Senior Partners—he was the one who ran this firm. Jenny was under the impression that his lack of a promotion was his own choice—he didn’t see the benefit of giving a million dollars of his own money when it wasn’t necessary, cheap as he was, and he enjoyed it when other lawyers underestimated him. So he remained a Junior Partner for now, but Jenny knew, as did everyone at the firm, that if Mike so much as hinted that he would like to be managing partner, Cady would be out and his name would be on the building within the day.

And sometimes, for special situations, Real Mike would appear for the clients, usually for women: grandmothers and daughters like she’d been, or secretaries, assistants and executives exhausted from working it what the ignorant saw as a man’s world. Or men who seemed more tired than most. And that’s what Mike responded to strongly: the tiredness, and if Mike didn’t turn around and give back the cocky CEOs and attorneys as good as he got, Jenny would be worried at the empathy in his eyes as he spoke to them.

 

When she the name Harvey Specter popped up on caller ID, Jenny’s breath quickened before she could place the name. She answered and heard a smooth precise voice say, “This is Harvey Specter’s assistant. I’m calling to arrange a meeting with a Mr. Michael Ross. I was told it was slightly urgent.”

Jenny had been working for Mike long enough to know that Mike’s idea of urgent was very different from that of most of his clients. “One second,” she said. And then over the intercom that she was still not quite comfortable with, “Mike, someone calling for Harvey Specter? He wants a meeting.”

There was a long pause, full of static, and Jenny wondered if he’d heard her. She drew in a breath to repeat herself, and he answered. “Schedule a meeting, but not on Tuesday or Thursday.” Jenny wanted to point out that his schedule was actually completely empty on Thursday, but she refrained. Likely, he knew that anyway. She picked up the phone.

“He is available Wednesday, from one until nine.”

She heard a the woman say something away from the phone. Another voice answered. Then she was back on the line. “Dinner, then. Mr. Specter will meet Mr. Ross at seven at the Clearwater’s restaurant.”

“That’s fine,” Jenny said. And the woman hung up.

 

Harvey Specter was acting like a baby, and Donna was all too happy to inform him of this fact. “You are being a baby,” she said. “A big annoying baby who managed to get a law degree, but can’t talk to one little lawyer over the phone.”

Harvey glared at her, but didn’t try to stop her, which was good. When she’d followed Harvey to Pearson-Hardman, she’d given him a long list of nonnegotiable demands. High on that list had been her right to say whatever she wanted to him, including—but not limited to—name calling. It had been an important demand; she’d underlined it twice and had it written explicitly into her contract. “Donna, you are my PA. I asked you to make a phone call. I’d don’t see the problem here.”

Donna scoffed. “I know you better than that Specter, and you should have taken that call yourself. You don’t have me make calls to other attorneys unless you are very busy or desperately don’t want to talk to them. Seeing as you hovered over me throughout the entire conversation, I’m pretty confident it isn’t the former. I haven’t seen you act like this since that week Scotty kept calling you to be in her wedding. I helped you avoid that because it was worth my time, but you need to tell me what’s up with this Ross guy.”

“I don’t know.”

“You know I’m not going to buy that—“

“No Donna,” Harvey it said again, his eyes wide with something. The expression on his face was not familiar to Donna, not in the context of Harvey Specter. “ _I don’t know_.”

She shut up at that, completely of her own will.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> Comment and Crit welcome. As well as ideas.
> 
> How do you feel about Jenny/Donna?
> 
> Still in the market for a beta. In about two weeks the hard part of school will be over for me, and I'm gonna get really serious about this fic. A beta would be amazing.


	7. On His Mind

It took Harvey a while to get dressed on Wednesday. Longer than he’d admit to anyone, except maybe Donna. Not that he needed to say a word to her. He came into the office fifteen minutes late, and she said, “Nice suit,” with a smirk on her lips and barely concealed worry in her eyes.

It _was_ a nice suit; very nice. A dark blue—almost black—pinstripe with wider shoulders than most; when Rene had made it for him, Harvey had ran his hands over the soft wool and smooth silk lining and felt a euphoria slightly stronger than the one he felt every time he tried on one of Rene’s suits. He’d worn it before of course, once, and that day he’d won a twelve million dollar contract dispute.

Harvey would’ve asked himself what exactly he expected to win today, or tonight rather—and that was something else; _why did he ask Ross to dinner?_ —but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Or maybe he already knew it, and was afraid of what that answer would entail. So he put the idea firmly out of his mind and concentrated on drafting a new strategy for the Gold case.

After two hours, with a new—and perhaps better—negotiation outline in hand, Harvey turned towards other work. He still had the Wilson briefs to look over. Briefing didn’t require a terrible amount of brainpower, and Harvey found himself thinking of his incoming meeting with Mike. He didn’t know what to expect, and his previous interactions with Mike had portrayed him as nothing except another snarky lawyer with an overinflated ego. And that might be all he was, but Harvey found himself reluctant to accept that as fact.

Time speed past or slowed to a crawl depending on the direction of his thoughts. Harvey found himself alternatively dreading and anticipating the meeting. It was completely at odds with his usual indifference. He was used to feeling very little, as close to nothing as he could get away with,  closing himself off to everything but the rush of pride that followed a victory.

But 6:30 came, and Donna’s voice floated through the intercom, reminding of his appointment, as if it hadn’t been on his mind all day. He walked leisurely to the elevator, and slightly less than swiftly from the elevator to where Ray was already waiting on the curb.

Ray pulled up at the building two minutes before seven, and Harvey left the car slowly, squashing down a feeling that felt suspiciously like nervousness. 

 

 

Mike hadn’t felt at all conflicted about the dinner meeting. He didn’t want to go. He _really_ didn’t want to go, with a strength of feeling that surprised even him. He brooded in his office all day, snapping at anyone who wasn’t Jenny.

He even not-so-briefly entertained a fantasy where Harvey Specter discovered an intense allergy to rice, or maybe remembered that he was wanted with a undeniable criminal record in Japan, making him unable to even set foot on Japanese soil, and therefore unfit to act as attorney.  Because of this Pearson-Hardman would be forced to send another lawyer, who wouldn’t be as good as Harvey, and therefore far inferior to Mike. Adria would realize that Wakefield-Cady was better than Pearson-Hardman in every was, and ask them to represent the Gold Corporation in all future legal ventures, and Pearson-Hardman would soon be surpassed by Wakefield-Cady (or, as Mike sometimes imagined in his head, Wakefield-Ross) as the best law firm in the city.

 Harvey would come to his apartment to congratulate him, saying how much he admired him, how much he respected him as an attorney. How much he wanted him. He would end up in Mike’s bed—naked, begging. And Mike would press his lips to Harvey’s mouth, and slide Harvey’s tongue with his. He would drag his hand down Harvey’s body as he kissed him, and Harvey would use that voice that sounded so compelling in a court room, and moan. Just moan, loudly, losing all control, and as Mike touched him his voice would become louder and louder until he was shouting with his release.

Afterward he’d hold Mike close and admit that he’d wanted him ever since he saw him at Mike’s very first trial… That he’d thought of him constantly since that night outside the restaurant, where he’d first propositioned him. That he’d set up the dinner hoping for something more than just a meeting between colleagues.

No. He was being silly: Jenny’s trial had been years ago, and Harvey didn’t even remember it. Their interaction of a few weeks ago was irrelevant, if uncomfortable, and probably forgotten by the Harvey as well. All that mattered was this case, the Gold Corporation’s product: all that mattered was Adria Gold’s dream.

Mike shifted in his chair. He was hard and he felt hot, and he knew if he looked in the mirror he would see his thoughts betrayed by flushed cheeks and red-tipped ears. He glanced at the clock. It was almost 6:30; if he didn’t leave soon he’d be late. He took some deep breaths and felt the heat slowly drain from his face.  That problem was solved, but there was still a significant bulge in his suit pants. Hurriedly he packed a stack of papers into his briefcase. He held it in front of his pants as he rushed out of his office. Luckily Jenny had already gone home, and no one stopped him as he practically ran into the bathroom.

He locked himself in a stall and took a deep breath. He’d only had to this a few times and only once since undergrad. The environment was already helping; Mike had never found the idea of public restrooms sexy or arousing. Under the smell of antiseptic, Mike could detect a slight trace of urine. He breathed in once more, through his nose, and grabbed his cock, shoving it through his waistband so that it was pressed up between his stomach and the tight pull of his belt. Someone had once told him that it was best to imagine sweaty football players in this situation; attempting to take that advice that clued him into the fact that he was mostly gay. Instead he imagined the most unsexy thing he could think of: the black stuff he’d been served the night he met Harvey. He remembered how slimy he looked, the shiny blackness hypnotizing. In his mind the food moved, wiggling at little, and Mike opened his eyes. He felt a little sick from the mental image, but fortunately his erection had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! (sound of frustration and...excitement? Maybe).
> 
> I'm having trouble writing good sexytimes. Or even recognizing if it's good or...not. Tips/advice? If I don't figure this out I might have to change the rating. Which I DON'T want to do. At all. More importantly: I bet you don't want that :/. So right, no rating change. 
> 
> I like to think (hope) I'm okay as far a plot goes, but as soon as someone takes off their pants I turn into a monkey with a keyboard. Sigh.


	8. A Plan

Mike did arrive late, by about seven minutes. He walked in to see Harvey sitting at a table in the corner, frowning down at a spot on a gleaming white tablecloth. Mike sat across from him and cleared his throat. “Specter.” 

Harvey looked up at him, still frowning. Brown eyes met his for a moment. 

There was a slight pause and then Mike started. “So I was brushing up on Japanese law, and I don’t think we’ll have much of a problem keeping GRAS as a specific project, but there is some concern over decreased representation in other parts of the company as seen in--” 

“Have you been here before?”

“Huh? Yeah.” 

Harvey picked up the menu. “What’s good?”

“Last time I came, I had a cheeseburger.”

“A cheeseburger.” 

Mike could feel Harvey judging him. “Yes. With fries.”

“You came to one of the best hotel restaurants in the city and ordered a cheeseburger with fries.”

“Yes, and it was awesome.” Harvey shrugged and proceeded to order a steak--medium rare-- and a salad. 

Mike ordered a cheeseburger. “Now about Goto’s specific company policy--”

“Do you always order a cheeseburger at business dinners?” 

Mike’s eyes narrowed lowered at being interrupted. “Not always. Sometimes I just go ahead and order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“I bet that endures you to your clients.” 

“If it comes to the point where I’m ordering expensive food just to be an asshole, then I don’t really care what they think of me.” Harvey smiled briefly, his mouth opening to reveal white teeth, and deep dimples appeared on his cheeks. His eyes crinkled and Mike found himself frowning. _Eye wrinkles should not be attractive._ “The case--”

At that moment their food arrived. Mike made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat at being interrupted _again_ , and Harvey smiled, ignoring his own plate in favor of wrinkling his nose at Mike’s. Mike scowled in return, and then tried again: “So, Japanese corporations--”

“And there’s no other food you enjoy? Maybe grilled cheese? Alphabet soup?” 

“ That interrupting me thing? Not okay; stop it.”

“Hmm?” . 

“ Everytime I start talking about the case-- which by the way is why I am here, listening to you mock my meal choices-- you interrupt me. You’ve interrupted me _four times_.” 

“The third time was the food. I can’t control when it arrives.”

“Three then. A normal, _decent_ person with a shred of politeness would interrupt someone maybe once or twice, not everytime they open their mouth.” 

“And a person with the tiniest bit of perception might notice why he’s being interrupted and just stop talking about the goddamn case.”

And that was a sore spot. Mike was a genius (probably--he’d never actually bothered to find out), and pretty much everything came easily for him. Academically, he’d been leagues ahead of everyone he met his first year out of of Harvard, but reading people had always been a bit of weakness for him. It had almost gotten him into trouble few times, and looking back was probably the reason he lost that first case, And now Harvey was criticizing his perception. Really.

“Do you know how much my time is worth, Mr. Specter?” 

“Less than mine.”  


“I rather doubt that.” 

“If you’re billing more than me an hour, than you should consider yourself a very lucky man.” Mike smiled, all smug satisfaction, and Harvey was startled. That expression looked so familiar...

“I know,” he replied. He stopped smiling, but the smugness was still very much present. His mouth opened widely as he took a bite of his cheeseburger. A streak of ketchup smeared at the corner of his mouth. “But we aren’t discussing my financial success. We’re talking about you interrupting me everytime I try to get to the point of this meeting.”

Harvey had just wanted to have dinner. He’d wanted to talk to Mike about his favorite food or music; he wanted to joke with him, hear his laugh, and maybe, just maybe, get to know him a little bit. Maybe get to know something important. He hadn’t wanted to talk to Mike-the-lawyer, but Mike-the-person; as a lawyer himself, Harvey understood the difference. But he couldn’t go and say _that_ so he deflected instead: “If I were you, I’d be glad of the chance to eat something. Obviously it’s a rare occurrence for you.” 

“What?” The ketchup was a bright red smudge on Mike’s face, drawing Harvey’s eyes towards his mouth. To his lips. A thin line of spit coated the lower lip, and Harvey found himself fixating on it. 

“I mean you look a little like a war orphan.” 

“I have slim features.” 

“Of course.” Harvey leaned over the table and stretched his hand out. His thumb swiped across Mike’s lower lip, wiping the ketchup off. Mike’s eyes widened. _Horrified_ , Harvey noted. _Because lawyers don’t just go around touching their co-counsel’s faces._ He used his index finger to wipe once more, slowly, and then dropped his hand.

Mike’s lip tingled where Harvey had touched him. “What are you...?”

“Seduction.” 

“What??”

“Look, you’ve been talking about a set strategy, and even the proposal I gave Adria only took legal maneuvers into consideration. But you don’t win with strategy. You win with people. You use the personality of the person on the stand. Play the man.” 

“But this isn’t a trial. There’s no jury.”

“So Shin Goto acts as defendant and jury. We need to make him want it. Instead of concentrating on his company, we need to concentrate on him. We need to make him want it.”

“So seduction.” Mike wrinkled his nose as he considered, “Family is very important in japanese culture. We can use that.”

“Is Adria even related to him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike explained. “Extended family is just as meaningful, and while blood ties are important, there is great focus the bond of relationship inherent in the maintenance and continuance of the family as an institution. There was a time when the Gold Corporation was part of Goto Industries, part of that family.”

“Isn’t that just going to make him possessive? Like he’s just taking back what’s his?” 

“No it needs to presented as a uniting of family. He’s bringing two parts together. The prodigal son returning home." 

“If we make it personal for him, he’ll want it that much more.”

“Seduction. We make him fall in love with the company.” Mike’s eyes were bright with excitement--blue, so blue, and Harvey noticed a slight pinkness to his cheeks. It was an expression you didn’t see often on the carefully masked faces Harvey had come to expect; it was too invested, too emotional. Harvey couldn’t look away.

Mike grinned.“We’ve got it. I mean right? And while we’re trying to make him feel attached to the company, we run a basic negotiation. It’s kinda perfect.” And there was that smug smile again, that mixture of confidence and satisfaction and triumph, with a touch of pure happiness thrown it. 

Suddenly, Harvey realized why it looked so familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hum dum dum an update. Comments welcome.  
> Just for future reference: Anything else I say about japanese culture you can safely assume is pulled out of my ass. Same with most of the lawyery stuff.


	9. A List With 3 Names

When Harvey closed his eyes that night he dreamed of smug smiles and challenging smirks-- slick blonde hair and blue eyes that revealed too much emotion.He woke up too early the next morning and stared at the mirror, contemplated the narcissism of being in lo-- slightly attached to this younger, happier version of himself.  Better version, if he was being honest; Harvey saw none of Mike’s openness reflected in his own face.  
  
___________  
  


Mike jerked off that night with Harvey’s name caught in his throat.  It did nothing to ease the buzzing tension he’d been feeling ever since Harvey’s fingers had traced his lips. He stared at the mess on his stomach and thought--quietly--that he might be missing something.   
  
An hour later, he received a phone call, drowned himself in more alcohol, and proceeded to drunk dial the three names tentatively listed as “friends” in his phone. It was such a short list, and one of the names shouldn’t even have been on it. He acknowledged this fact even as he murmured desperately into the phone. Later Jenny would say he cried, but Mike knew that was a lie. He never shed a tear.

__________  


 

Adria stood them up at their Saturday meeting. They waited in the room for an half hour, before Harvey called her office. Her assistant said she wasn’t in. Mike left the conference room, for a while, and just as Harvey was wondering if Mike had just left, he returned, sporting an impressive blush: red patches stained his cheek a streaks of pink painted his neck.   
  
“Mike?”   
  
Apparently Mike had just called Adria’s cell-- when did he get that number? \--and she wouldn’t be able to meet them.   
  
“Why not?” Harvey asked, and Mike flushed some more, avoiding Harvey’s eyes.. “Um, I don’t know. She-- she didn’t tell me.”  
  
Miike was lying, and badly too.   
  
“What--?”  
  
“I need to pick some stuff up for her. She said you should come.”  
  


If Harvey expected the “stuff” to involve documents or legal papers or anything that an actual lawyer might be doing, he was sorely disappointed. 

  


 

 

By the third grocery store, Harvey was starting to get impatient. “Did you take on a part-time as her errand boy?”   
  
Mike, who seemed to be working down a list in his head, frowned. “No.” He pushed the cart towards the freezer section. “Adria’s blackmailing me,” he added distractically. “Which brand of ice cream do you think she’ll want? All she said was expensive, and there are five here with the same price...”  
  
“Blackmail?”  
  
“Maybe Ben and Jerry’s?”  
  
“With what?”  
  
“And what flavor?” Mike sighed. “I wish she’d been more specific.”  
  
“Mike!”  
  
Mike sighed again looked, “ _Why_ would I go through all this effort to avoid Adria revealing what she knows, and then go ahead and tell you? Do you think I’m stupid?” He seemed perfectly serious.  
  
“Of course not. Just.”  
  
Mike paused a moment, waiting for Harvey to continue. When he remained silent, Mike said, “It’s not a big deal. She’s being really nice about it. Blackmail is probably too strong a word. Except she's making me do stuff for her, in return for her not preforming a certain action against me. I'm not sure if there's another word that. So just help me pick an ice cream, okay?” He held up two cartons. “Cookies ‘N Cream or Butter Pecan?”  
  
Eventually deciding to get both, Mike marched them across the street to a dry-cleaner’s. Harvey stood outside--somehow he had ended up holding all the grocery bags--and waited. After a few minutes, Mike came out holding a long, green Victorian-style dress. He had a pained look on his face, and he looked up at Harvey almost--but not quite-- pleadingly. “I need you to call your driver to give us a ride.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I have to drop this stuff off and Adria told me that if she got a whiff of cab-stink on her dress, she would--.” He cut himself off abruptly. “I need your car.”   
  
“Not possible.”  
  
“No. You don’t understand. I  _need _ \--”  
  
“Ray's out of town. Cousin's wedding”  
  
Mike deflated, and took out his phone.  
  
“Who are you calling?”  
  
“My driver.” Mike dialed from memory, and hesitated slightly over the call button.  
  
“Then why the hell did you need mine?”  
  
“Because I only felt like being blackmailed by one person at a time, thanks.”  
  
Before Harvey could ask what exactly he meant by that Mike was speaking urgently into the phone. He had lowered his voice, but if Harvey stepped closer and leaned in slightly...really he couldn’t help but overhear; Mike should speak more quietly. It could hardly be considered eavesdropping if Mike made it this easy. “...because I wasn’t feeling all there...Trevor called...he asked about Grammy...you were one of my recent calls...of course not... not  Him . I don’t...Fine! I do!  But...whatever you want. Anything...Really? I’m rich, Alma; I could seriously--no,okay...Okay. Yeah.” Mike hung up.  
  
They stood in silence for a couple of minutes. Mike clutched his fingers nervously together.“Mike?” said Harvey after a while. Mike ignored him, and soon a black town car pulled up.   
  
The drive was awkward. They sat in silence, Mike pressed against his door in the wide backseat--as far away from Harvey as possible. Several times Harvey caught Mike’s driver--Alma, Mike had said--eying him speculatively in the rear view mirror.  Once she opened her mouth to speak, but Mike swiftly interrupted her with a shouted “Tickets!”.  She’d snapped her mouth shut and proceeded to glare at Harvey murderously. Harvey looked towards Mike, expecting some sort of explanation, only to find Mike looking at him already. The expression on his face made something inside Harvey falter. He looked at Harvey as if everything wrong in his life could be summed up by one name: Harvey Specter. It wasn’t hatred; it was a special type of horror--maybe fear.  
  
Which was the last straw. Harvey didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that look, but he knew he didn’t want it. Especially not from Mike. Making his voice carefully indifference he said,“I’m busy. I’m sure you can make your little delivery to Adria yourself. Let me out here; I’ll call a cab.”  
  
Almost immediately the look melted off Mike’s face to be replaced with one of panic. “No! I need--I mean Adria needs you! To. She, um. You have to come. She told me that you had to come or...Just come.”  
  
“Look, I don’t know the details of your blackmail situation, but I don’t  have  to do anything.”   
  
“But can you?” And, wow, that was what pleading looked like one Mike’s face: all wide eyes and pouting lips, and Harvey had seen this guy looking hard and confident and superior, so where did the word pleading even fit into his vocabulary?  Harvey opened his mouth, automatically wanting to say  _yes _ , to say  _of course_ , to say  _anything, but don’t look like that, don’t look upset, don’t_ . Catching himself just in time, Harvey changed the words to a hesitant no. Mike’s mouth twitched downward.   
  
From the corner of his eye, Harvey saw Alma bare her teeth, making a noise scarily close to a growl. “Don’t know why you guys are arguing”, she said loudly. “Doesn’t matter what you say, cocky, I’m not stopping the car.” And since Harvey didn’t want to see what would happen if he dared to argue, and truthfully he didn’t want to argue anyway, that matter was settled.  
  
Adria’s house contradicted the extravagance of the dress in Mike’s arms.. It was good sized-- probably more space than a single woman needed--but is was considerably smaller than the mansions surrounding it.  They pulled into a paved driveway. Just as they were getting out of the car, Alma cleared her throat pointedly. “Do you want to come in?” Mike asked reluctantly. It’ll be really quick...but if you want you can...meet. Adria.” Mike sounded strangled, as if the thought of Alma and Adria in the same room was painful to contemplate.   
  
Alma smiled and then shouted,“No, no! I can wait. But MIKE. We WILL be having  a talk about--”   
  
“Of course” Mike cut in. He forcefully shut the door and walked up to the house. Harvey followed, struggling with the grocery bags.  
  
Before they could even knock, Adria opened the door with a flourish. “Mike! And Harvey! How was your day? Did you have fun grocery shopping together?” Mike thought he heard a change in inflection on the  together , but he might have been mistaken. They move into the kitchen to help put the food away.  
  
“Mike,” Adria called. “Let Harvey deal with the groceries; I need to tell you something.”   
  
Mike looked at Harvey warily, expecting a protest, but Harvey had decided just to go with it or--more likely--he was biding his time. Either way, he didn’t say a word.  
  
Adria herded Mike into what looked like a spare bedroom, and without hesitation hugged him. Which was...okay, Mike decided. But depressingly unfamiliar, and Mike tried to remember that last time he’d experienced warm arms that held him tightly, like this--asking for nothing but the chance to give comfort. His memory supplied him with night his Grammy died, and Mike shuddered.   
  
Adria didn’t say anything, just kept hugging him, and she never mentioned the phone call again, except, as he left, to whisper in his ear that he was lonely, she could tell, and she was going to fix that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this confusing? Let me know if it is...  
> I tried to make it not confusing without actually narrating the phone call, 'cuz I'm bad enough at dialogue as it is without adding drunkenness to the mix, and I figured whatever your mind came up with would be better than what I could write.
> 
> I love that there are actually people reading this; you guys are so wonderful for dealing with me and my sporadic updates. So yeah. Thanks so much.


	10. Fly Economy

Adria bought the tickets to Japan.   
  
Which is how Mike and Harvey ended up squashed together in two economy seats for a fourteen hour flight. Mike saw this and dismally observed, “she’s not even trying to be subtle.” It was muttered under his breath, and when Harvey questioned him, Mike just shook his head apologetically and offered Harvey the window seat.   
  
Harvey hadn’t flown economy since he’d taken the plane back from Harvard shortly after graduation. If he didn’t know better he’d have attributed the sinking feeling in his stomach to some kind of claustrophobia, but he knew it was a side effect of prolonged exposure to the masses.  And it wasn’t because of some elitist idea that he was better than everyone else; Harvey just didn’t like people, okay? He didn’t like them when they were strangers and, he liked them even less once he got to know them. And he didn’t like being in close proximity to the ordinary, to those who accepted their lot as just human--unextraordinary in their fallibility. Who didn’t spend every moment striving to change that. Harvey wanted to live at the top, above life, and all his affectations--his suits, his cars, his drive to win--were manifestations of that fact.  
  
In the seat beside him, Mike fidgeted, his knee briefly knocking into Harvey’s. He slouched back, his eyes on the game flashing on the screen of the tablet balanced on his thighs. On the other side of him, an old lady looked over his shoulder, asking him a question. He didn’t look uncomfortable.  
  
Harvey tried--objectively--to understand what had attracted him to Mike the first time, that night in front of the restaurant. To say Mike wasn't his type was an understatement.   
  
Mike wasn’t at the top : he might be reaching for it--and really wasn’t that half the battle?-- but he wasn’t there, not yet. He wasn’t like the women (and on the rare occasion men) that Harvey usually took to his bed. They had confidence dripping from their manicured nails, secure in the belief that they had the world firmly wrapped around their fingertips. Mike may have the best, but his success was as hard-won as Harvey’s. He had to work for what he got, and whatever cocky front he put up masked the real possibility of failure. The incident with Adria made it very clear how present that possibility was.   
  
So they had that in common. 

 

Also, Mike was pretty.

 

Mike murmured something to the old woman and then handed her the tablet. She happily began tapping at the game. It looked like something involving numbers.  

  
“Do you know her?”   
  
"Her name is Clara."  
  
"And you're just going to hand your stuff off to a woman you just met in coach."  
  
"Yeah, she's amazing at Kakuro. Was telling me all the answers so I told her she could go ahead and finish."  
  
“Do you usually give your possessions to random people?”  
  
“I’m not giving her anything. It’s just for the plane ride.”  
  
“And if she breaks it? She doesn't exactly look like a computer genius.”   
  
Mike looked over quickly to make sure the woman hadn't heard. "I can afford it," he said defensively.   
  
Harvey snorted derisively and Mike squinted at him. “Why are you being an asshole?”  
  
Harvey ignored the question. Looking down, he noticed how much room Mike had managed to  leave between them in the limited space available. Experimentally he shifted in his seat, moving his leg until it nearly pressed into Mike’s thigh. Instead of skittering away ( or attempting to--Mike couldn’t get further away if he was in the old lady’s lap), he leaned into the touch, just a little bit. Just enough for Harvey to know that Mike’s subconscious  at least didn't find him completely rehensible.    
  
Harvey grinned at that, and at Mike, whose face was set in what was undeniably a pout. The plush set of his lips and the wide eyes reminded Harvey of something he’d been meaning to ask.   
  
“How old are you?”   
  
“Why do you ask?”  
  
“This is a very important case to my firm, and if it’s important to Pearson-Hardman, god knows it’s important to your firm. And considering the fact that you look about twelve, there is no way you’re in the position to handle a case like this.”  
  
Mike looked like he was warring between offense and self-satisfaction. Eventually smugness won out, and his face settled the expression that Harvey recognized from when he’d asked about Mike’s salary. “But obviously, I am.”  
  
“Then how are you in this position?”  
  
“Because I’m basically the most brilliant person you’ll ever meet.” Shuffling around, Mike pulled a messenger bag from under his chair. He pulled a large brown book out of it, and shoved it into Harvey’s lap. “The Barbri Legal Handbook. Read me something.”  
  
“This was in your carry on.”  
  
“I do this trick at least once a month. It’s easier if I’m prepared. Looks better if I’m quoting from this than if I’m reciting the inflight menu. Read.”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Harvey opened a page at random and began to read:“Civil liability associated with agency is based on several factors including --”  
  
“-- the deviation of the agent from his path, the reasonable inference of agency on behalf of the plaintiff, and the nature of the damages themselves.”  
  
“Neat trick, but there’s more to law than parroting and memorization.”  
  
“I made partner in three years. I think I know that.”  
  
“Why aren’t you working at Pearson-Hardman? A mind like that, Wakefield-Cady shouldn’t have even been on your radar four years ago.”  
  
Where once that question might have made Mike angry, now he only felt vague annoyance. Usually he was glad that he’d ended up at Wakefield-Cady; he knew another law firm might not have given him as much free reign, but he still disliked being reminded of the rejection. “I graduated Columbia; Pearson-Hardman only hires from Harvard. It’s a really dumb policy. You don’t know how many amazing lawyers we’ve gotten who would’ve jumped at the chance to work with you guys.”  
  
“Doesn’t Wakefield-Cady hire Columbia?   
  
“ Well, yeah mostly, but not always. The dumbest thing a person can do is instil a rule without exceptions. I mean, you guys turned  _me_ down.”   
  
“Obviously a mistake.”   
  
“Obviously. A few of the people I’ve brought in aren’t even ivy league. I know; it’s shocking.”  
  
Harvey opened his mouth to make a comment about Pearson-Hardman’s sloppy seconds, but what came out was, “I would’ve hired you.”  
  
“Even without a Harvard degree?”  
  
The answer didn’t matter; Harvey had been in no position to make any decisions like that three years ago. But he told Mike anyway.  
  
“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have nothing to say. 
> 
> I just have a bunch of random scenes on a google doc and I keep trying to figure out how to put plot in between. My writing process, people.
> 
> I feel like I'm handing out potato chips. Like they aren't substantial and you're getting one every hour, so there's no way that's satisfying. And you're sitting there waiting for a sandwich, but I cannot for the life of me find the bread.


	11. Hows Coach?

Mike spent the last five hours of the flight asleep and Harvey spent it watching him and trying to make himself turn away.  Every five minutes he would receive increasingly horrific emails from Donna who was sitting with Adria and Mike’s PA in first class.  
  
  
 **Donna, me (5) _How’s coach?_**  
Harvey, don’t order the margaritas; they’re awful.  
  
 **Donna, me (7) _How’s coach?_**  
Oooh Adria just had them bring out ingredients. She’s making us our own drinks.  
  
 **Donna, me (8) _How’s coach?_**  
Harvey. Harvey, these are amazing. Harvey.  My mouth just fell in love with Adria. I need her recipe. She just made them right in front of me, but I still don’t know how she did it. Harvey, I know everything. I neeeeed the recipe!  
  
  
 **Donna, me (10) _How’s coach?_**  
HARVEYYY Im maybe drunkk. These arr stronge... does Mike’s PA have a girlfriend?. Shes pretty and shes staring at my lips and Harv I;m goin to hit that  
  
 **Donna, me (12) _How’s coach?_**  
I don carre if you dont wan to hear it. Me an Jenny are goin to have sex. hott sexx. I wantto lick her evrywher  
  
 **Donna, me (13) _How’s coach?_**  
Jenny likes my pln. I’mm sorry bby. Teh point was for you to get some ut I’m gettig some.  I’’ll sennd you a drink. Mayve it;ll help yu grow the balls to aks Mike iff you can see him naked.  
  
 **Donna, me (14) _How’s coach?_**  
Andd touch himm aked.  
  
 **Donna, me (15) _How’s coach?_**  
Amd kiss hiis face. While hes naked.  
  
  
  
Harvey stopped checking his email after that.  
  
Harvey wasn't positive, but he figured it was well within his rights to protest the fact that the his PA was drinking margaritas in first class, and apparently making plans for amazing sex, while he was surrounded by people in sneakers  and crying children and the distinct smell of unwashed feet. And Mike. Who appeared to be drooling. Harvey wasn’t happy, and he still felt uncomfortable and common, and the only two people who could make him feel the slightest bit better were either drunk or snoring in his ear.  
  
Beside him, Mike’s head lolled to the side, his soft hair just barely brushing Harvey’s ear. His nose scrunched adorably in his sleep, and Harvey fought againsy a smile. Telling himself that if Mike started drooling on _him_ he’d end up on the ground, Harvey moved slightly so that Mike was fully leaning on his shoulder.  
  
He could feel Mike’s body heat, pressed along his side, present even through his jacket and vest and shirt and cotton undershirt. It sunk through his shoulder, into his skin, and Harvey shivered into the wave of warmth. In his sleep, Mike fidgeted and stretched, his shirt wrinkling coming untucked and his loosened tie slipping lower on his throat. He’d already unbuttoned the first two buttons there, and Harvey wanted to trace the line of his throat, wanted to smooth the shirt’s wrinkles down his chest. Glancing around surreptitiously, he very carefully reached around to touch three fingers to Mike’s neck. He trailed path over Mike’s cheek,  brushing his hand over Mike’s eyelashes and the edge of his hair. Mike shuddered in his sleep, and Harvey imagined he saw a blush tinging the path he fingers had made with pink.  
  
Harvey really, really wanted to see where that line lead. Whether the blush would fade or go across his chest, and further down. It was a puzzle, and he wanted to know the answer, and there was only one way to find out.  
  
Harvey stilled his hand, realizing that he he was, essentially, considering molesting Mike in his sleep. Harvey sighed and dropped his hand. He looked up, and glared at the old woman, who had taken a break from tapping at mike’s tablet to watch him knowingly.  
  
A flight attendant arrived holding a margarita. Cautiously Harvey took a sip, and started to feel a little better. It was the best he’d ever tasted, and he decided to forgive Donna for her drunken harrassment.

\---------

 

He opened his eyes to a beeping sound. The old lady was pointing the tablet at them. She noticed he was awake, and there was one more clicking sound before she sheepishly placed it back into her lap. Harvey made a note to delete all incriminatingly cute pictures she might have taken.

There was a growing wet spot on his shoulder where Mike’s mouth rested, open and leaking slightly, and Harvey wondered if he should be bothered. He decided it didn’t matter; he hadn’t liked that suit much anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I promised myself no excuses, but I just wanted to let you know, I am writing something else. And it's good, I mean I like it. I'm writing it along with this one, I just don't want to post it in chapters. So when this is done, you'll be like, yes finally and then bam! Another completed fic for your reading pleasure. 
> 
> So yeah. Look kindly on me and my slowness, and know you shall be justly rewarded.
> 
> Did you know there are no other Jenny/Donna fics? Weird.


End file.
